


(didn't give up) wouldn't dare surrender

by ImperialEvolution



Series: spinning falsehoods into gold [1]
Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cottage-core, Dream Smp, First Kiss, Gay yearning, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-imprisonment Arc, Rated T for language, Realistic Minecraft, Screenplay/Script Format, hand holding, i will only get my lore through tumblr thank you and goodnight, my relationship with smp lore is strictly casual, no i will not watch the streams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialEvolution/pseuds/ImperialEvolution
Summary: A hero and a villain walk into a kitchen. There is no punchline, only the broken backs of shared history.Or; Dream visits George before the final showdown and they have a heart to heart.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF) (mentioned/discussed)
Series: spinning falsehoods into gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186736
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	(didn't give up) wouldn't dare surrender

**Author's Note:**

> For better formatting, i'd recommend reading [this PDF!](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vlaWle-uUfvxrp0Ii0YgcbxxWxI1CDPc?usp=sharing)  
> As this is a fic of the SMP characters, not the IRL CCs, you may share this, if you please!
> 
> CW/TW: Implied canon typical violence, and past manipulation.
> 
> Stay safe and happy reading!! <3

**INT.** GEORGE’S COTTAGE-CORE BUNGALOW. KITCHEN. SUNSET.

It is RAINING. Our hero, GEORGE, is sitting at a kitchen table, holding a mug in his hands and watching as rain lashes against his windows. This is not an especially heroic thing of him to be doing, but the simple fact of the matter is that he is not aware he is the hero of this story.

In fact, he is not aware he is the hero of any story. He is not an especially self-aware person.

George SIGHS. He knows, in the core of himself, that he should not. But for whatever reason, tonight feels blue and silver. Cold. George shivers to himself, wrapping his fingers tighter around his mug.

There is a BEAT as George sits in the kitchen, picking at the mug handle in his hands and glancing intermittently at the window.

The is a KNOCK at the door. By all rights, there should be no such thing. George hasn’t sent his location to anyone, save Sapnap, and he never knocks.

Another KNOCK. Despite the improbability of it all, there is someone at the door.

**GEORGE**

Coming!  _ (Quieter) _ Jesus Christ…

He picks up the shield that rests against the door, strapping it around his arm with practiced ease.

He opens the door.

**GEORGE**

Oh, fuck off.

He closes the door.

There is a BEAT, in which George sets his shield down--harder than he strictly needs to. It makes a sharp noise against the cobblestone floor--and presses his back into the unforgiving door.

Another knock, lowercase this time. George feels it in his spine, echoing inside his ribs, as he slides down to the floor. He pulls his knees into his chest.

He can’t be here. He just can’t.

He listens to the man on the other side of the door, how his feet shuffle as he SIGHS. The steps as he turns to leave. 

George opens his eyes, standing before he can get the better of himself. The door flies open. 

**EXT.** GEORGE’S COTTAGE-CORE BUNGALOW. FRONT DOOR. SUNSET.

On the other side of the door is DREAM. He is facing away from George, hood up, mask on. In one hand, he carries NIGHTMARE, in the other, a black shield with a red cross.

Dream is not the hero of this story. Dream is not the hero of any story, except for the one he writes in his own head, and even then, he’s not fully sure. In many stories, in most stories, he is the villain. He is still a villain, it is apparent in how he holds himself, how the skin of his hands crackle with scars and pent up energy as he flexes his fingers, but he’s not the antagonist.

George is not yet aware of this.

**GEORGE**

How did you find me?

Dream turns, slowly. The rain seems to hang in the air around him, like even it is afraid to touch him. The slivers of sky that break through the thick cloud paint him a dark yellow.

**DREAM**

(Flat, like all the fight has left him.)

No hello? Really, George? I’m offended.

**GEORGE**

You don't get to be.

He is not wrong. The truth of it rattles in the empty space between them. The only sound is the rain pounding on the wooden planks of his roof.

**GEORGE**

Are you going to come in or not?

Dream’s grip on Nightmare flexes as he glances back into the woods behind him. 

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

If you bring that in, I will kill you.

Dream HUFFS that stupid non-laugh of his, the one that tells him he knows full well George could never take him in a fight. George is painfully aware of the shield he dropped, sitting useless in the hallway.

**DREAM**

Fine, fine. Only ‘cause you asked nicely.

George laughs in spite of himself, a quiet, tentative thing. Dream is right, of course, George never pushed himself hard enough to actually take him out, and Dream’s axe is named appropriately.

**INT.** GEORGE’S COTTAGE-CORE BUNGALOW. HALLWAY. SUNSET.

Dream’s boots track mud through his lovely cobblestone doorway. George winces but bites back complaints through gritted teeth.

Dream drops Nightmare by the door, resting her gently against the wall. He throws his shield next to George’s abandoned one. They look like soldiers, all neat lines and uniforms.

George and Dream used to look like soldiers too. It feels so long ago now, since George used his axe for anything that wasn’t gathering timber. His sword sits in a chest at the foot of his bed.

Dream still looks the part, even with his arms surrendered. It’s the Netherite, he thinks. Or the way he holds his shoulders, coiled tight like a bowstring. Or that stupid goddamn mask.

**GEORGE**

You can take it off, you know.

Dream tilts his head, like a confused dog. The mask makes him look like a fucking psychopath.

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

The mask, you idiot.

Dream’s fingers curl into the palm of his hand, chipped black-painted nails digging into flesh.

**DREAM**

(Quiet)

Yeah, I know…

They stand for a BEAT, George picking at the hem of his shirt as Dream looks around with glassy eyes.

George SIGHS, before turning towards the kitchen. He feels like an idiot for even asking Dream to take off the mask. Of course he won’t.

Sapnap is the only person aside from himself who has seen Dream’s face with anything approaching regularity. It feels so far away now, the late nights sitting on the roof of the Community House, watching their breaths stain the air as they laugh themselves silly over something ridiculous. Dream always looked otherworldly when he laughed, with the corner of his eyes crinkling and his whole body shaking with the force of his wheezing. George could never look away, though he couldn’t honestly say he tried to.

George snaps back to himself.

**GEORGE**

Really, though. How did you find me? I never told you where I was, and Sapnap would never tell you.

  
  
  
  


**DREAM**

(Grinning)

You forget, Georgie, that I have friends everywhere.

**GEORGE**

(Rolling his eyes)

Of course you do. And don’t call me that.

Dream laughs, a little breathlessly. It’s infectious. George buries his smile in the collar of his shirt.

**DREAM**

(Sobering)

I made sure to keep tabs on you.

George gives a wry chuckle. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Dream, he just… doesn’t want to.

**GEORGE**

Why?

**DREAM**

(Earnest)

I didn’t want you getting hurt.

George’s inhale SHAKES. He can’t seem to keep the air in his lungs.

**GEORGE**

(Whispered)

That’s not fair, Dream.

Dream pauses and his footsteps FALTER.

**DREAM**

(Equally as quiet)

No?

**GEORGE**

No.

Dream’s footsteps gain their rhythm again. George forces himself not to look back.

**DREAM**

Sorry.

And here’s the thing: George should not forgive Dream. Sapnap has stressed it time and time again, that they don’t owe him anything. He can picture Sapnap so clearly in his mind, the tension sewn through his shoulders, the harsh bite around the words,  _ We’re on our own _ .

He promised Sapnap he wouldn’t forgive Dream.

**INT.** GEORGE’S COTTAGE-CORE BUNGALOW. KITCHEN. DUSK.

But here they both are, Dream ducking through the kitchen door like he’s done it a thousand times. Dream looks around with an acute gaze, his eyes flicking from wall to wall, taking in the beams along the ceiling, the paintings along the wall, the fireplace across the way.

George busies himself in the kitchen, the back of his neck prickling with the knowledge of Dream’s scrutiny. It’s a nice house, it looks more like a home than the Community House ever did. It doesn’t stop self-consciousness slipping an icy claw down his spine.

He glances over his shoulder at Dream, who’s still standing, arms are hanging uselessly at his sides.

**GEORGE**

Sit down. Please. I, um. Tea?

Dream nods, taking one last glance around the room. His gaze catches on the doors leading deeper into the house, and he realises Dream is looking for an exit.

**DREAM**

(Grateful)

Please.

George reaches on his tip-toes for the tea, stashed on the shelf above the furnace.

**GEORGE**

Sugar? Milk?

George knows how Dream takes his tea. Not like he knows the back of his hands, but like how he knows how to forge a sword. Through force of habit, out of necessity.

George has never liked tea, but Dream used to shuffle into the corner of the Community House that resembled a ramshackle approximation of a kitchen when he couldn’t sleep. As light as Dream can keep his steps, his sleep-addled brain never bothered to, and George would inevitably be woken by the shuffling.

And so they’d sit together on the floor, George with his back against the furnace wall and Dream cross-legged in front of him. When the water was boiled, George would oh-so carefully prepare their mugs. Dream’s hands were never steady enough at night, fingers tapping flighty rhythms into his thighs, the floor. Very occasionally, when George would let him, the back of George’s hands.

His hands were like hummingbirds. They are, still, as his fingers drum incessant into the top of George’s kitchen table. The rhythm is steady, familiar. 

George blinks away the memories. His chest feels warm and heavy all at once. Dream tends to do that to him. He chooses not to think about it.

He is already reaching for the sugar when--

**DREAM**

One sugar, no milk. Thanks.

George smiles to himself.

The familiarity is nice. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend the crackling fire of the hearth is just the torches lining the wall. If he closes his eyes, he is back there, with Dream at his side and Sapnap close by, before… Just BEFORE.

George wipes the smile from his face as he finishes making the tea, presenting the blue porcelain mug (his favourite) to Dream.

He has a new scar, George notices as Dream takes the mug from him, a pale pink slash on the ball of his right palm. Their fingers brush for a second, and George relishes in the texture of his skin on his, the familiar axe-handle calluses and whorl of his fingertips. It’s like coming home.

And then it is gone. Dream pulls his hands away to cradle the drink under his chin and that brief feeling of home leaves as quickly as it came.

George WATCHES as Dream WATCHES the rain against the window. For all the purposeful gazes, neither of them see much of anything.

Silence creeps back into the kitchen.

Dream’s mask is stained a warm yellow by the flickering fire that CRACKLES and POPS in its hearth. Dream sets down the mug, careful to place it in line with the old rings stained where George has set down mugs in the past. It shouldn’t feel as domestic as it does.

Dream picks up the spoon George left in the mug, turning it over in his hands, flexing it through his fingers like thread through cloth. Dream has always had fast hands, clever hands.

**DREAM**

(Very calm)

I am going to do something awful.

George’s breath hitches, though he is unsurprised. It would be far from the first time.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

And it will either work, or it will go very, very wrong.

**GEORGE**

What are you saying?

**DREAM**

I’m cashing in my chips, George. This is the end.

George frowns.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

Everything has led to this. What we used to talk about. You remember.

They used to talk about a lot of things, late at night, their breaths barely escaping as whispers. Dream would always have this look in his eyes, when he talked about the future of the SMP, the kind of look that George would follow to the ends of the world, to the End and back, if he asked.

Dream would always return to the same things; peace, happiness, the three of them, him, George and Sapnap, together, like it was an inevitability.

Look at them now.

**GEORGE**

Yeah, I remember.

**DREAM**

I have a plan. It just hinges on those stupid  _ kids _ .

He spits the word like it’s something rotten.

**GEORGE**

Tommy and Tubbo?

**DREAM**

(Like their names alone makes him sick)

Yeah. Them.

**GEORGE**

Dream, I don’t understand.

Dream shakes his head. George feels more than sees the accompanying smile.

**DREAM**

You don’t need to, just. Trust me.

  
  


**GEORGE**

(Concerned)

Dream…

**DREAM**

(Steady)

George.

**GEORGE**

What are you going to do?

Dream doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he puts down the spoon, his fingers threading through his hair, sliding to the knot tying back his mask.

George’s breath catches.

Seeing Dream’s face still takes George’s breath away, even now, after everything. George remembers every detail of it, of course. The scar under his eye George patched up after Technoblade tore through his mask, the freckles that bloom across his cheeks like stars, the slit in his eyebrow, the spot in his left eye.

George knows these things, not like the back of his hands, but like how he knows how to grow cornflowers. Not out of necessity, but because it  _ matters _ . Because these are the things that George needs to feel sane.

The small things have changed. The stubble on his jaw is different. A new freckle under his lip. The dark circles under his eyes, all lavender and grey. He looks TIRED.

George’s chest aches. He exhales, not realising he’d been holding it back.

Dream looks away, fingers fluttering at the edges of his mask’s ribbon as he sets it on the table.

**DREAM**

I have leverage on the two of them. Well, Tommy, really, but where he goes so does Tubbo. I can finally get them to settle down and  _ listen  _ to me.

He says  _ settle down  _ like  _ force them on their knees _ .

**DREAM (Cont.)**

And then his dumb fucking war can be over! George, just think of it!

George wants to reach out. His grip flexes on his mug, but he doesn’t dare move his hands.

The longer he looks, the more he notices. Fundamentally, Dream hasn’t changed. He still smiles the same, all crooked and sharp, like a challenge. His eyes have changed, they look harder, more dangerous.

He gestures with his hands as he talks (he always did), but the maniac glint in his eyes is unwavering.

George’s pulse picks up in his neck. It scares him.

**GEORGE**

And if you don’t?

Dream’s grin doesn’t waver, but George sees the tightness around his eyes.

**DREAM**

Then it’s all over.

George’s stomach constricts.

**GEORGE**

I don’t like those risks.

Dream smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

**DREAM**

(Soft)

No, you wouldn't.

It should be an insult, but it doesn’t sound like one. It has no heat behind it.

**GEORGE**

I can’t stop you, can I?

  
  


**DREAM**

No.

**GEORGE**

Then why…?

Why everything? Why come here? Why is he gripping the blue porcelain so tightly?

George isn’t sure he wants the answers.

Dream keeps looking at the mug in his grip like he wishes it as an axe.

**DREAM**

Because. If I didn’t, you’d come after me.

George digests his words silently, staring at his own mug and trying not to throw up. His heart is thrashing in his chest.

**GEORGE**

(Voice cracking)

You don’t want me to?

It comes out like  _ You don’t want me? _

Dream finally stops smiling. He looks up, yellow-gold-green eyes intent on George’s face. He looks at him like George is a lighthouse and Dream is picking his way through the rocks below him. He looks at him like he’s something worth looking at. 

**DREAM**

(Hallowed)

George…

George feels like he has been scraped raw from the inside out, all ribs and marrow singing secrets into the hollows of his body. 

**DREAM (Cont.)**

You can’t seriously believe that.

George LOOKS AWAY.

  
  


**DREAM**

(Softer, if it were possible)

George.

George flinches at the touch of Dream’s hands on his. Dream pulls his hands away.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

George, look at me. Please.

He swallows thickly, forcing his gaze back to Dream. He still has that LOOK in his eyes. His hands hover over his, like he’s afraid to touch him again. George traces a finger along the new scar, feather-light, before linking their fingers together.

Dream’s breath shakes. George can’t breathe at all. 

**DREAM**

I want you to be  _ safe _ , George. And I’m not-- This isn’t safe. There is no one else-- no one I would rather have at my side.

Dream squeezes his hands, unerringly gentle.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

I can’t… I can’t risk losing you.

**GEORGE**

(Angry)

And what about me? What am I meant to do?

Dream gives a weak attempt at a smile.

**DREAM**

You’ve never needed me.

**GEORGE**

(Quietly)

That’s not true. 

**DREAM**

Yes, it is.  _ (Laughing, bitter) _ George, look around! You have  _ everything _ you ever wanted, you have a beautiful house and friends and  _ peace _ . You need that. 

**GEORGE**

(Hands shaking)

And you don’t? You look, Dream! Aren’t you tired of this?

George sucks in a ragged breath, blinking away frustrated tears. He doesn’t speak until his hands stop shaking. 

**GEORGE**

(Calmer)

I never thought you needed me to say it. 

**DREAM**

(Hard, flat)

Say what?

**GEORGE**

I thought you just knew. That I love you. And I need you.

Dream’s exhale SHAKES.

**DREAM**

Oh.

George laughs wetly.

**GEORGE**

Yeah.

**DREAM**

I love you too.

**GEORGE**

(Laughing)

I know.

Dream squeezes his hands.

**DREAM**

No, like. I’m  _ in love  _ with you.

George grins.

**GEORGE**

(Horrifically fond)

I  _ know _ , Dream. 

Dream’s grin grows to match his. 

**DREAM**

Are you gonna say it back?

**GEORGE**

Do I need to?

**DREAM**

(Petulant)

No… But I’d like you to.

**GEORGE**

(Rolling his eyes)

I love you too.

Dream looks at him like he’s handed him the world. George thinks maybe he has.

**DREAM**

(Almost nervous)

Can I kiss you?

George flushes. He can feel it in his ears and the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He NODS.

Dream stands and walks around the table, standing in front of him. George looks up at him, smiling nervously. Dream leans down. 

It is not a perfect kiss. The back of George’s thighs dig uncomfortably into the chair and he has no idea where to put his hands. George still tastes like the salt of unshed tears, and Dream’s lips are chapped. His stubble scratches his chin.

But it’s WARM. But it’s HIM. But he’s SAFE.

Dream pulls away, licking his lips. His hands drum into his thighs.

**DREAM**

(Whispered)

Are you alright? You’re, uh, quiet.

George takes Dream’s hands.

**GEORGE**

(Faint)

Again?

Dream smiles, leaning down to kiss him again.

It goes easier, this time, more comfortable. George’s fingers shake only slightly as they glide over Dream’s cheekbones. George’s heart feathers in his throat as he opens his mouth. He wonders if Dream can taste it. Dream’s hands are warm where they rest, one against his neck, the other still clinging to George’s hand.

Dream’s lips are gentle, far more gentle than they ought to be, for a man as cruel and harsh as him. He presses cautiously into him, the hand at the nape of his neck pulling him closer.

George pulls away first, blinking his eyes open in time to catch Dream doing the same. He grins.

**GEORGE**

I wasn’t expecting you to be so gentle.

Dream quirks a sardonic eyebrow.

**DREAM**

Do you not want me to be?

George FLUSHES.

**GEORGE**

(Yes.)

Oh my God, shut up.

Dream laughs lightly.

**DREAM**

(Crooning)

Aww, Georgie, all you have to do is ask.

The words cram in the back of George’s throat. He stands instead, grabbing Dream by the hood and pulling him into another kiss.

Dream laughs breathlessly as he breaks away.

**DREAM**

Okay, um. Wow.

George grins, pleased with the newfound power he has over him.

Dream’s hand comes up to cup George’s face, running a finger along his cheekbones. George softens into it.

**GEORGE**

(Hesitant)

Are you gonna stay?

Dream sighs.

**DREAM**

I… George, you know I can’t.

It sinks in George’s stomach, the truth of it welling in his throat.

**GEORGE**

At least, just. Tonight. Please. It’s late, you can’t travel like this. 

Dream presses a kiss into the top of his head.

**DREAM**

Alright. For tonight.

George smiles, leaning forward to press his forehead against Dream’s collarbones.

Dream’s arms circle around his waist, Dream tucking his head against George’s. They stay like that for a long while.

George looks up eventually.

**GEORGE**

Do you have wool?

Dream raises an eyebrow.

**DREAM**

No? Should I?

George sighs. Of course he doesn’t. Of course his life is just Like This.

**GEORGE**

I don’t have a spare bed.

Dream blinks. Once. Twice.

**DREAM**

Okay.

**GEORGE**

(Incredulous)

Okay? My bed is  _ tiny _ .

**DREAM**

I mean, yeah. We’ll figure it out.  _ (Grinning) _ You can always just sleep on me.

George’s mouth goes dry. He’s not sure he’ll survive the night, if his heart keeps skipping beats the way it seems determined to do.

**GEORGE**

Alright. Well.

George takes Dream’s hand.

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

C’mon, then.

Dragging Dream through the rooms of his house should not feel anywhere near as familiar as it does. But his hand is warm in his and he holds on tight as George pulls them forward, until

**INT.** GEORGE’S COTTAGE-CORE BUNGALOW. BEDROOM. NIGHT.

they arrive. Description of George’s bedroom. It has maps and stuff hanging on the walls, things that he holds on to, things that  _ matter _ . 

Dream sits on the edge of the bed and starts to take off his armour.

**GEORGE**

Do you want help?

Dream looks up.

**DREAM**

Hm? Oh, yeah. If you don’t mind.

George smiles, running an absent hand through Dream’s hair before sinking to his knees in front of him.

**GEORGE**

Of course. 

George narrows his focus on Dream’s braces. He’s surprised that his hands don’t stutter over the clasps, muscle memory saves him from any embarrassment. It’s a routine he slips back into far easier than he’d like.

The Netherite is unyielding and cold, shifting blues and black beneath him. It smells faintly of sulphur and the electric ozone of experience. The metal hums beneath George’s fingers like a far off chant.

Dream’s hand flexes as he pulls off the first brace. George looks up to find Dream already looking at him, eyes wide.

**GEORGE**

What?

  
  


**DREAM**

Nothing, just… You.

George smiles and shakes his head. 

**GEORGE**

Simp.

**DREAM**

(Incredulous)

I’m not a simp! You’re literally taking off my armour for me and  _ I’m  _ the simp?

George smirks.

**GEORGE**

(Smug)

Yeah.

  
  


Dream sighs, but he’s smiling. It’s nice to see him so unguarded, for once. George feels like he hasn’t seen him like this in so long.

**GEORGE**

I’m still upset with you.

**DREAM**

(Wincing)

I know.

**GEORGE**

You’ve really hurt me. You know that, right? Both me and Sap, you really-- 

George’s hands stutter on the clasp and he swears under his breath.

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

You really hurt us.

**DREAM**

I know. I know, I’m so--  _ (Choking on the confession) _ I’m so sorry.

**GEORGE**

Sapnap hasn’t forgiven you, you know.

**DREAM**

(Small)

Yeah.

**GEORGE**

And I’m not sure I have, either.

**DREAM**

(Smaller)

Yeah… 

George takes an unsteady breath, his gaze fixed on Dream’s armour.

**GEORGE**

But. I think I might be able to. With time.

Dream inhale is SHARP.

**DREAM**

Okay… 

George unclasps the second set of braces and moves on to the greaves.

**GEORGE**

I just… We shouldn’t be starting anything now. Not with--

He gestures vaguely in a way that indicates the general everything of the world they live in.

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

All this.

Dream swallows. His fingers flex.

  
  


**DREAM**

I know.

George grits his teeth against the irrational disappointment that floods his mouth.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

But I want to.

Dream never had impulse control or much of a self-preservation instinct. It’s a familiar feeling, watching as Dream throws himself, his whole heart, into something. It feels unsafe to be so close to him when he’s like this. George’s heart RACES.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

Is that wrong?

**GEORGE**

(Too quickly)

No!  _ (Catching himself) _ No, of course not. I want it too.

Dream’s hands move from where they’ve been picking at his leggings and instead starts to remove his chestplate.

**GEORGE (Cont.)**

We just… I can’t rush into this.

**DREAM**

(Absently)

No. I suppose not.

George pulls off his greaves. It’s terrifying, in its own way, this gentle affair. The ritual in carving open Dream’s carapace feels like something unholy. He can only imagine how vulnerable Dream must feel without his armour.

Seeing Dream like this feels more wrong than without the mask. It’s an honest thing, bearing the gentlest, most fragile parts of himself. He meets George’s gaze steadily, though.

Dream takes George’s hand, pulling him to his feet between Dream’s thighs. George loops his arms around Dream’s shoulders.

**DREAM**

So now what? Do we just go back to before? Pretend this never happened in the morning?

George lifts Dream’s gaze to his, running a thumb across his jaw.

**GEORGE**

Of course not. You’ll come back for me, won’t you? After tomorrow?

**DREAM**

(Hesitant)

If I can.

George shakes his head.

**GEORGE**

Promise me. You’ll come back for me.

It’s selfish and he knows it, but George won’t be able to sleep without it.

**DREAM**

Of course. I promise, Georgie.

**GEORGE**

We can talk about it then, okay?

Dream licks his lips as he considers this. George watches the movement of his tongue.

**DREAM**

Okay.

George smiles softly.

**GEORGE**

Okay.

George’s heart leaps into his throat. He has never wanted to kiss someone more. So he does, presses his lips gently against the crest of his cheekbones.

**GEORGE**

You wanna go to bed?

**DREAM**

(To the tune of  [ “woOw, you’re so GenIuS gEOrGe” ](https://georgeliker.tumblr.com/post/640094960415309824/why-do-you-say-it-like-that-x2) )

Wow, Georgie, at least take me to dinner first.

**GEORGE**

You’re such an idiot.

Dream grins lazily.

**DREAM**

You love it.

He shuffles backwards, further into the bed and pats his thighs.

**DREAM (Cont.)**

C’mere.

George follows obediently, crawling into Dream’s lap and burying his face in Dream’s neck.

**GEORGE**

I missed you.

**DREAM**

Yeah?

**GEORGE**

Yeah.  _ (Beat.) _ It’s like. I hate you, sometimes, you know? For what you did. But I still-- You’re still you. I care about you. And I missed being around you, and hearing you laugh, and. All of it, really.

BEAT. Dream wraps his arms tighter around him.

**DREAM**

I missed you too.

George YAWNS. When he looks back at Dream, he’s looking at him like he hung the stars.

**GEORGE**

(Embarrassed)

What?

**DREAM**

(Smiling)

Nothing.

George rolls his eyes.

**GEORGE**

Whatever.

He yawns again.

**DREAM**

Tired?

  
George nods, burying his face into Dream’s neck. Words seem pointless, now.

  
**DREAM**

(Unbearably soft)

Alright.

Dream’s arms tighten around him as he moves under the covers, carefully shifting George with him. George DOES NOT give an undignified squawk at the sudden movement and Dream DOES NOT wheeze over it for the next minute.

**GEORGE**

(Sarcastic and more than a little annoyed)

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re soOo funny, Dream.

**DREAM**

(Still wheezing)

Technically,  _ you  _ are.

George can’t find the words so ends up driving an elbow into his chest, before shifting to make himself comfortable under the sheets.

This is not an easy task, when there is a six-foot-something giant with a strictly casual relationship with spatial awareness behind him, still laughing at his misery. George does his best, turning on his side to give Dream more room and suppressing a smile.

Dream stops laughing and throws an arm around George’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. George can feel Dream’s breath on the back of his neck.

It’s nice.

What tension George has still been holding in his back eases.

**GEORGE**

We’ll talk about us tomorrow.

**DREAM**

(Content, in a way George hasn’t heard in years)

Yeah. I’m not going anywhere, Georgie. Not without you.

George hums contentedly.

**GEORGE**

(I love you)

Goodnight, Dream.

**DREAM**

(I love you too)

Goodnight, George.

Maybe, just maybe, George thinks, this will end okay.

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> mcyt fandom chewed me up and spat me out and now i post cringe on main :D This work was named after Little Soldiers by the Crane Wives, series title from Stranger by the Mechanisms. hit me up on tumblr at imperial-evolution.


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